


Night Club of Doom

by ladyspock7



Category: Megamind (2010)
Genre: F/M, Hostage Situations, Matter of Honor, Strippers and Strip Clubs, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-17 03:26:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2295014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyspock7/pseuds/ladyspock7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A seedy night club has a new act. Megamind is not amused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_**Author's notes: This story was inspired by Grandiose Me's “The Other Woman Incident”  (on fanfiction.net). It just got me thinking: What if Megamind took an insult to Roxanne a little more personally? And thus this tale was born. Anyone who can identify the scene from the Blues Brothers movie that helped inspire this story gets brownie points.** _

* * *

 

Megamind flung the newspaper onto the table. “How long have you known about this act?” he demanded, clipping short the last word. Leaning back in the chair, he rested one hand on the table and glowered at Minion.

Minion shifted his feet unhappily. _I can't believe I forgot to throw it away,_ he thought glumly. 

He glanced at the ad to give himself a little time to come up with a tactful answer, though he remembered well enough what it said. He'd come across the paper while he was picking up some extra test tubes at the university. He'd gone into the students' lounge to hit the vending machine for some snacks when he saw the paper lying on a sagging couch. It wasn't one that he normally read, being full of ads for places that he and Sir never visited.

It had caught his eye because it said something about an 'Evil Master of Villainy' so of course he'd read it as he wrenched the front off the vending machine, and paused as he reached for the candy bars. He was shocked, then disgusted, then worried. If Sir found out about it he knew there would be no end of trouble, though exactly what form the trouble would take he did not like to guess.

But instead of immediately throwing it in the trash where it belonged, he must have absent-mindedly carried it back to the Lair, along with all the other stuff he'd been carrying. Oh, that's right, that was about the time he'd heard someone enter the building, so he had to make a quick getaway. That's what had happened.

A single gloved finger tapping on the table brought Minion out of his recollections.

“Well, maybe a week?” Minion mumbled.

“And you were planning on telling me about this detestable performance  _when,_ exactly?”

“I'm sorry, Sir, it must have slipped my mind.” Which was true enough, though Minion had been hoping that Megamind would, ideally, have  _never_ found out.

Megamind glowered for a moment longer, then pushed away from the table and paced across the room. Several brainbots hovered expectantly at the abrupt movements, looking to see if Daddy were ready to start playing. Eyestalks drooped mournfully as Megamind ignored their 'bowgs' and continued to pace.

“I'm sure it'll wear of in a few weeks, Sir,” Minion said, hoping to placate the coming storm. “I mean, I know it's pretty horrible, but how many people are even going to see it? It's not like it's on TV, or like they put the ad in any respectable newspaper. It's no big deal, it's...”

“No big deal!” Megamind snapped, his pacing making the cape swirl. “This effrontery shall not go unpunished! Why, it's an insult! Anything that tarnishes the good name of Roxanne Ritchi must be quashed.”

“It must?” Minion said in surprise.

“Of course it must!” Megamind strode briskly across the room to the bank of monitors, currently showing seventeen different TV stations. He typed instructions on the keyboard and the two lowest screens began showing print.

Minion hadn't been expecting this particular angle. It didn't surprise him that the boss angry about some stripper making herself up to look like Miss Ritchi, but it was a surprise him to hear him admit it.

“Why?” he asked cautiously. In order to keep up with Sir's train of thought, it was helpful to board at the right station. He edged closer and peered over Sir's shoulder. The words 'Pussycat Club' were at the top of the nearest screen, but the rest of the print was too small to read.

“You know how much that flying galoot depends on his sterling reputation!” Megamind said without turning around. “If the more reputable branches of the media get wind of this, it will ruin everything! The mere act of seeing a couple of talentless hacks dressed to look like Miss Ritchi and myself prancing around together on stage will plant all the wrong ideas in people's heads. Rumors will fly. Tongues will wag! Do you know that sleazeball DJ on WKAM is already making snide remarks about the possibility that Roxanne is willfully involving herself in her own kidnappings? It's outrageous. And now this scuzzy dance routine will add more fuel to the flames! Before you know it, people will be gossiping that she and I are...are...well, you know.” He waved his hands vaguely around in the air. “Metro Man will, at first, be outraged and indignant. Being the heroic type, he will, naturally, stand by her, claim it doesn't matter what people say, blah blah blah, but he'll crack under the pressure, you mark my words. He can't handle bad publicity. He'll break up with her. We cannot let that happen!”

Minion scratched his dome. “We can't?”

“No, we can't!” Megamind whirled. Minion hastily took a step back. “Don't you see? Our battles are never more intense than when the life of the helpless damsel is at stake! The drama! The heightened emotions! It's so much more rewarding than kidnapping some random, anonymous bystander and putting them in mortal peril.” Whisking his cape around, he paced across the room again.

Minion watched him for a moment. Calmly he said, “He could easily hook up with someone else, Sir.” Megamind stopped pacing, cape swirling around his boots. “He's the most eligible bachelor in town. Why, if he started dating someone else, you would have someone new to kidnap. Wouldn't that make it more interesting?”

Megamind slowly turned a gaze of steel on him. Minion kept his face carefully neutral.  _Wonder what he'll do with that,_ he thought.

“Furthermore,” Megamind said quietly. “There is the little matter of the  _personal_ insult this ridiculous performance offers  _me._ Personally. Wouldn't you agree?”

Minion sighed. “Yeah, I guess it is pretty bad.”

“Quite,” Megamind said through his teeth. “It cannot be allowed to stand. Prepare the brainbots.”

\- - - - -

 

Gene looked up from the order forms at the cries of alarm that cut through the booming synthesized music and the heavy bass beat. He pushed away from his desk and almost got smacked in the face when the office door flew open and Tammi burst in, bosom heaving, which was normally a welcome sight, but the panic in her eyes got his attention this time.

“Gene, you gotta get out here!”

He hurried out into the hall. Frightened girls were pouring out of the dressing rooms and crowding the hallway. The music ceased as if someone had pulled the plug and now he could hear shouts of alarm and a few screams from the waitresses on the main floor. The sounds of stampeding feet indicated that an attempt was being made by his customers to vacate the premises. Gene's heart pounded with dread, and he hoped against hope that whatever was happening was not really happening, but every citizen of Metro City could recognize the distinctive sound of brainbots swarming.

Gene tried to deny the evidence of his own ears. It  _couldn't_ be him! He  _never_ came to strip clubs! He was  _famous_ for it! 

He ducked as several brainbots swooped over his head and down the hallway he'd just come out of, girls, yelping and ducking. A couple of the brainbots were of a type he hadn't seen before, bigger and heavier, with a solid sort of look to them. They were completely black except for the rows of glowing blue spikes that ran down their backs like mohawks and their gigantic bear trap jaws opened and closed sedately, as if they were sharks testing the water.

Off in the distance a male voice shrieked, “AAAAAAAAAHHHHH! Get it off! Get it off!” Was that his bouncer screaming? Vinnie?

Gene looked around in bewilderment at the storm of pink and purple feathers flying through the air. Excited brainbots swept through the whirling fluff, snapping and tearing them in their jaws. His field of vision was unexpectedly filled with big hair and the furious, glittering face of Cheri, who had been chased of the stage.

“They ate my boa!” she shrieked, arms wrapped around what was left of her costume. Gene winced. Cheri's voice could crack crystal. He grabbed her shoulders and moved her firmly aside, just in time to see Vinnie sailing through the air and crashing into a table, and from there to the floor.

Megamind walked sedately through the swirling feathers, past the overturned chairs, running his gaze over the room with a look of grim satisfaction. Minion, dragging Roscoe the other bouncer along by his shirt, walked over to him.

“All secure, Sir.”

Megamind clasped his hands behind his back. “Threat neutralized?”

_“Very_ neutralized, Sir,” Minion said, glaring at Roscoe, who made a keening sound and clutched at the metal hand twisted into his shirt.

“Why is he making that noise?”

Minion shrugged. “Must've caught a few chest hairs.”

“Ah. Well, just put him with the others. A bit more gently this time, if you please, Minion.”

Minion hauled Roscoe over to the opposite wall underneath the glowing pink neon 'Pussycat Club' sign, where a squadron of the big brainbots were herding the customers. The DJ was nowhere in sight, but then Gene saw him leap out from under the sound booth, a brainbot snapping at his legs and driving him towards the group huddled against the wall.

He finally spotted Mitzi, his girlfriend and club manager, at the bar. He rushed over to her at a speed just under a gallop and grabbed her arm. “Mitzi, what-”

“He didn't pay the cover charge!” she whispered.

Gene looked at her in astonishment.  _“That's_ your biggest worry?” The blood rushed out of his face. “You mean...you sent Vinnie to  _collect?”_

“Of course not!” she snapped. “What do you think, I'm stupid? Him and Roscoe did it themselves!” If she'd known what those idiot bouncers were up to, she would've told them to just let Megamind come in and leave him alone. The way he'd entered, it was pretty clear he wasn't there to enjoy the show. Especially, she thought with a sinking feeling, with the sort of show they were currently putting on.

Megamind stalked across the room, coming straight for them, stepping firmly on the groaning Vinnie's fingers as he passed. The ruckus of the excited brainbots and babble of voices became fuzzy and distant. People were complaining about their cell phones going dead. Gene felt the bar pressing into the small of his back. Mitzi squeaked, and Gene realized he was crushing her arm and he let go.

Megamind stopped in front of them and gave them a hard look. “My money's no good here. I'm sure you understand.” Megamind managed to look down his nose at him, even though Gene was a good half foot taller, and Gene felt his shoulders curl in on themselves as his body unconsciously tried to make itself a smaller target.

“You are Gene Dibble, the owner of this establishment,” Megamind said.

Slowly Gene nodded, as if careful movements would somehow improve the situation. He made a gesture toward the cash register at the bar, in the vague hope that this was a robbery. Some distant part of himself was amazed at the hope that it was 'just' a robbery.

“All the money in the till, it's...”

“Come with me,” Megamind said abruptly. With a sweep of the cape, he strode toward the back of the room.

Mitzi smacked Gene in the chest. “Straighten up! What's the matter with you!” she hissed.

He whispered fiercely in her ear. “Get back there and tell Lloyd to shower off. Hide Candy's wig!” Mitzi's mouth twisted and Gene just  _knew_ she was going to complain that she was the manager, not some go-fer, but he didn't have time for her whining. “Just do it!” he snapped and gave her a little shove to get her moving.

Against the back wall Minion brushed off a chair and Megamind took the seat. Crossing one leg over the other he impatiently crooked his hand at Gene. Swallowing, Gene forced his legs to move forward. It seemed to take an incredibly long time to cross the distance. Standing in front of the table, he felt like he was in the principal's office again, though with a lot more to worry about than getting detention.

Megamind opened his mouth, then glared at the table where his elbow rested. With a look of distaste he lifted his arm, the elbow coming away with a faint velcro noise.

“First of all, I shall require you to send someone to hose off this table,” he said. “It's rather sticky. With what, I would not like to hazard a guess.”

Gene grimaced. “Yeah, yeah, sure. Um. Should I...send out the next...girl?” he said hesitantly. “Only your robots have my DJ over against the wall...they're gonna need music.”

“No, there is only one act I am interested in seeing,” Megamind said, picking a speck of lint off his leg. “I'm sure you know which one. Your 'Damsel's Rev-ahnge' skit. You may give the rest of your performers the night off, though they are not to leave the premises, I'm afraid.”

“It's been canceled!” Gene forced out of his constricted throat. “They're sick.”

“What, both of them?” Megamind said, raising an eyebrow. “Come here, 718.” A brainbot swung low with an eager bowg. “Video feed from 23.”

A projection came out of the brainbot and formed a rectangular screen in the air. One half of the screen showed Lloyd struggling into his street clothes and scrubbing on the blue makeup on his face with a wet wipe. Gene was impressed. He wouldn't have guessed that Lloyd had the smarts to realize what was going on. The other half of the screen showed Candy pacing around with her arms crossed. Two of the other girls were standing in her room also, and appeared to be trying to calm her down.

Mitzi, he noticed with annoyance, was nowhere in sight.

“They don't look sick to me,” Megamind said. Waving his hand the projection disappeared.

“I acknowledge the confusion my entrance must have caused, security being rather important to someone in my position, you understand,” he said, pretending to examine his fingernails. “So I will give you ten minutes to get everything in order and to start the show. Later we can discuss payment.”

“Payment?” Gene said weakly.

“Yes, for the security I am providing while I am on the premises,” Megamind said casually. “And I'm afraid I don't come cheap. Ah.” The brainbots dropped a small assortment of firearms onto the table with a clatter.

“Hmm.” Megamind pursed his lips and picked up a handgun from the pile. He shook his head. “All obtained from your customers, Gene.” A sawed-off shotgun crashed onto the table. “Though I believe this one came from the back office?” he said, turning to look at Minion.

“From the behind the bar, I think, Sir.”

Megamind pulled back the slide on top of the handgun, looked inside it, and closed it again with a click. “Well, it's a good thing I am here, then,” he said, giving Gene an evil grin. “That way you can relax and leave everything to me.”

He aimed and fired. The bartender hit the floor as a light fixture on the wall over the bar shattered, sparked, and winked out.

“Pulls to the left,” Megamind said, tossing it back with the others. He began to lean on the table again then hung one arm over the back of the chair instead as Gene slowly emerged from a half crouch.

“Ten minutes,” Megamind said, voice hard. “I expect them to be in costume, in full make-up, so I will know exactly what has everyone so excited. I  _insist.”_

Gene fled. As he approached the hallway that led to the dressing rooms he heard Megamind's cheerful voice call out, “Why look, Minion, it's Lieutenant William Stafford of the Metrocity police department.” Gene winced and glanced over his shoulder. One of the customers, a man in a hooded sweatshirt and dark glasses tried to shuffle a little further back against the wall.

“Hi, Lieutenant!” Megamind said, voice reaching every corner of the room. “How's the wife? Just a fashion tip, you don't really need to wear sunglasses at night.”

\- - - - - -

Gene found Lloyd pacing by the back door, streaks of blue still visible on his face.

The big, stolid brainbots had gotten there first. They hovered in front of the exit, only their single red eyes moving, watching their every move. A low rumble vibrated from them as if they were growling.

“I can't get out,” Lloyd moaned, rocking back and forth. A few of the little brainbots, who were starting to look like puppies next to the hulking ones, darted around excitedly.

Gene grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back into his dressing room. Lloyd babbled, “Maybe I can shower off, I can...”

“No!” Gene snapped, jabbing a finger at him. “You and Candy gotta get out there and do the show!”

Lloyd goggled at him. “What are you, crazy? He'll kill me!”

“You got to! He  _insists!”_ he couldn't help adding with a sneer. He looked around guiltily. That robot out there had shown the inside of Lloyd's dressing room but there weren't any brainbots around now. Maybe there was a camera somewhere. Did it have audio too? 

“I'll bet he's got the stage wired,” Lloyd moaned. “I'll step on it, then BOOM!”

Gene hesitated. Things had been pretty confused, but he didn't think the brainbots had been planting explosives. “No, I...don't think so,” he said uncertainly. “I mean, he's sitting right there in the back. He's not gonna blow himself up, is he? Use your head!”

He grabbed Lloyd's shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. “Maybe he's just curious. Maybe he needed a night off from terrorizing the city, so he comes here. Got to be a lot of work, all the terrorizing, tryin' to kill Metro Man. Yeah,” he said, turning his head a little and raising his voice so he could be picked up by any possible mics. “The man probably works pretty hard, he deserves a night off!”

Lloyd's eyes darted around uncertainly. “Who are you talking to?” he said.

“It's no big deal,” Gene said, turning to Lloyd again, oily persuasion oozing from his voice. Lloyd trembled and opened his mouth but Gene headed him off.

“It's one of them coincidences, that's what it is,” he said briskly. “Just do your thing, and everything's gonna be fine.” He smiled and patted Lloyd's cheek. Pulling his hand back, he looked at it and wiped it on his shirt, leaving a streak of blue.

“And fix your make-up.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

\- - - - - -

The bartender and one of the waitresses came to help Vinnie to his feet. The bartender draped the bouncer's arm over his shoulder and they all began to walk back to the dressing rooms.

“Ah ah ah,” Megamind said, waving an admonishing finger. “Over there by the wall.” They changed course and took Vinnie over to put him with the other men.

“Where are my manners,” Megamind cried, leaning forward in his chair. “Brutebots, fan out.” The hulking robots drifted back from the men trapped against the wall. “Come on now. Sit!” Megamind gestured broadly with his arms. Hesitantly, the customers began to edge toward the nearest chairs. “No need to stand on ceremony. Barkeep! A round of drinks for these good people. On the house!”

Gene emerged from the dressing room hallway just in time to hear the generous offer of free drinks. He clapped both hands over his head in despair, but when he noticed Megamind coolly looking in his direction, Gene forced a cheerful grin on his face. The waitresses came out of their huddle by the bar and began ferrying drinks across the room, casting apprehensive looks up at the hovering brainbots.

Not one to let opportunity pass him by, Megamind directed a camerabot to snap a few closeups of the police lieutenant for further reference, amusement, and possible blackmail, making sure that the brightly lit 'Pussycat Club' sign was visible in the background. Lieutenant Stafford was curiously reluctant to part with his sunglasses. Megamind ordered a brainbot to snatch them away.

“That's better,” he said. “Let's have a few shots with one of the waitresses on your lap. Come on now, don't be shy! Any takers? Anyone willing to risk contamination? Oh good, we have a willing accomplice. Madam, you are braver than I.”

Minion observed the darkening face of the embarrassed cop with some uneasiness. “Do the words 'invasive cavity search' have any meaning for you, Sir?” he muttered. A waitress, falling easily into a familiar chore, plopped onto Stafford's lap. She even smiled at the camerabot.

 

Megamind chuckled. “What are you implying, Minion? That something unpleasant will happen to me if I should happen to fall into police custody?”

“You might be walking funny for a while the next time you get arrested in Stafford's precinct, Sir.”

“I'm surprised at you, Minion. Casting such vile aspersions on our city's finest.” Grinning, he raised his voice to carry across the room. “Stafford is a professional, and if ever I should have the honor of being processed in his station, I have every confidence that I will be treated with core-tesy and respect. Which means no invasive searches, or regrettable situations that may involve getting walked into half-open doors or trips down dangerous stairways. Especially if he doesn't want certain photographs to magically appear in a certain wife's email. Right, Will?” Stafford set his jaw and looked away.

Megamind smirked at Minion. “You see? Have a little faith in human nature.” He settled back in his chair, crossing an ankle over his knee.

Looking over the small hill of firearms piled on his table he noticed some little canisters and fished one out. “What's this, mace?”

“From the strippers, Sir. You did say all weapons.”

There were several more containers of mace and pepper spray, and a couple of stun guns, some of them neon purple or a hot pink color, for the ladylike touch, he supposed. He glanced toward the entrance to the dressing rooms. Several of the furloughed dancers were whispering and casting nervous looks around the room, not just towards him, but also towards the customers grouped at the far end, some of whom were chugging down the free liquor as fast as possible.

He turned the little can of spray idly in his hand, musing on this new wrinkle. His seizure of the club had knocked askew the usual balance of power. While it was in his nature to cause as much chaos and turmoil as possible, he didn't approve of  _that_ sort of trouble, even for ladies of uncertain virtue. It was...not fitting. He would see to it that there was no trouble of that sort once he left the premises. 

“I hardly see how defensive weaponry poses a threat,” he said. “Have a brainbot return these items to the ladies.”

“I think I know where you're going with this, Sir, but that is  _not_ a good idea,” Minion said firmly.

Megamind frowned. “Honestly, Minion, do you really think those women are going to charge me, tottering forward in their high heels waving these little cans of mace? They wouldn't get more than three feet.”

“They could pass them on to others,” Minion said darkly, giving a meaningful look at the stiff figure of Lieutenant Stafford. “Somebody's bound to get a stupid idea in their heads and think they're a hero. And then you'd have to make an example and nail their feet to the floor.” He made a face. “I mean, I brought the hammer and everything, but all that squealing. It's so noisy, Sir. ”

Megamind tsk-ed and waved his hand in irritation. “Oh all  _right,_ you've made your point. After I have completed my business here, then. See to it that the defensive weapons are returned as we are leaving. Ladies have every right to defend themselves from unwanted attention.”

“Like Miss Ritchi?” Minon mumbled and clapped a hand over his mouth. That had just slipped out.

Megamind skewered him with a look. “I believe Miss Ritchi defends herself perfectly well,” he said coldly. “Almost broke my foot,” he grumbled, turning around again. That was the last time he did the dirty work. He was delegating the actual kidnapping to Minion from now on. She was getting so  _physical._

\- - - - - 

Roxanne was probably the most secure woman in town. She lived in a very safe neighborhood, but no muggers or those of a more evil intent would stalk her in any case. They didn't dare. Megamind had put the word out. Miss Ritchi was off-limits. And for those who were new to town, or were too stupid to take the hint, they'd better hope and pray that Metro Man found them first. Megamind would see to it that jail was the least of their worries.

Metro City had become astonishingly safe for Caucasian women with short brown hair, at least from random street crime, as criminals tended to give them a wide berth.

Roxanne was safe from other criminal types, but not, of course, from him.

Once she was safely out cold, he examined her shoes and was surprised to see that the classic style pumps had been reinforced with steel in the toes and heels. No wonder the four-inch heel nearly went through the top of his boot.

She was her usual agitated self, after Minion took the bag off her head. He'd barely opened his mouth to welcome her to his grand scheme, when she laid into him.

“What, already?” she yelled. “The last one was just last week!”

“Four days ago, Miss Ritchi,” he said smoothly, uncrossing his legs. He winced as his injured foot touched the floor. “Though you can't be  _that_ surprised,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “You were obviously prepared for at least the possibility of our meeting once again, with those mantraps you're wearing.”

“Call it a hunch,” she snapped. The reinforced pumps were heavy, but they went so well with her skirt. “And call it what it really is, while you're at it. A kidnapping. This is hardly a meeting.”

“I congratulate you on your foresight,” he said, steepling his fingers in front of his chest and leaning back in his chair. “It was treacherous, deceitful, and clever. Qualities I find quite admirable. You almost escaped my clutches. Too bad that 'almost' doesn't count.” He gave her a smug smile.

She glared at him, then cast her gaze around the room.

“Another drill?” she said, and there was no mistaking the scorn in her voice. “You just happen to have an extra one lying around the place? Even you couldn't rebuild something that quickly.”

  
“Very insightful, Miss Ritchi, though I could, in fact, have rebuilt the drill that flying doofus smashed, if I were so inclined. The first was merely a prototype. This,” and he rose swiftly to his feet, “is the  _real_ deal.” He strode toward his grand machine, careful not to limp, and swept his arms out.

“The tip of this one,” he thundered, “is reinforced with the hardest manufactured substance known to me: a special titanium alloy which...”

“Don't you mean 'known to man'?” Roxanne interrupted dryly.

Pursing his lips in annoyance he half turned back to her. “No, known to  _me,_ Miss Ritchi,” he said patiently. He clasped his hands behind his back and walked back to look down at her. “Since what is known to man, or woman for that matter, is significantly less than what  _I_ know. Now, as I was about to say before I was so rudely interrupted, this alloy is a special compound designed...”

A sudden burst of sparks from the control panel made them both flinch. Minion yelped and slapped at a spark that was threatening to set his hairy robot arm ablaze.

“What are you doing?” Megamind shouted.

“I was only adjusting the flux inhibitor, like you said!” Minion cried, grabbing a water bottle off a table and dousing his arm. Megamind hurried to the console, coughing and waving away smoke. “You must have done more than that!” he snapped. “It's completely fried!”

“Is that quantifiable, or is that just a rough guess?” Roxanne muttered.

He was not going to dignify that with an answer. She was clearly throwing around a few scientific terms to annoy him.“Go get the control panel for the other drill,” he ordered.

“But it was smashed.”

“Captain Hairdo just tore it out of the wall,” Megamind said. “Once the connective wires are replaced, it will work just fine. Hurry! Move! It's almost go time!” Minion fled with a nervous cloud of brainbots swooping behind him.

He paced across the room, scowling. This was throwing off the entire schedule! On his next sweep across the room, Roxanne sighed heavily, as if she too were impatient by the delay and wanted to get the ball rolling.

“So what did you mean by that crack?”

“And which one would that be, Miss Ritchi?” he said, coming to a halt and leaning over a little to look at her. “I make so many of them. It's an embarrassment of riches.”

“Yeah, they're all gems,” she said snidely. “I meant that crack about women not knowing anything.”

He breathed deeply through his nose. “If you will recall,” he said, beginning to stalk around the back of her chair so she had to turn her neck to watch him, “My exact words were, 'since what is known to man, or woman for that matter, is significantly less than what  _I_ know.'” He came to a halt again just behind her shoulder. “At least my statement was all-inclusive and non-sexist, unlike yours. It was merely a commentary on the general ignorance of the human populace. If it makes you feel any better,” he began walking again, casting a raised eyebrow at her as he passed, “I believe that women are marginally more intelligent.” He waved a languid hand towards her shoes. “As evidenced by your devious footwear.” Personally, she was the smartest person he knew, but he would never say so aloud. She'd never let him hear the end of it.

“I'm so flattered,” she said.

He glanced toward the hallway where Minion had disappeared. If they didn't get this plan set in motion within the next hour, it would begin to grow dark, and he'd have to get the floodlights set up.

“What makes you think you're so much smarter than everyone else?”

“It's not an opinion, Miss Ritchi, it's a fact. I am the most intelligent being on the planet. I have invented...”

“Heard it,” she said flatly, rolling her eyes. “Do you know what the definition of insanity is?”

“As a matter of fact I do, but please, enlighten me,” he snapped.

“It's doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting different results,” she said, and nodded at the massive drill looming over half the room.

“It is not the same, it's a completely different drill,” he said hotly, striding closer to it. He waved his hand, pointing out its new, improved features. “Reinforced struts, compact core, and, as I have been repeatedly trying to point out, tipped with an incorruptible titanium alloy of my own design, specifically calibrated to penetrate even the thickest substance in the universe, namely Metro Mahn's skull.”

She snorted. “You will never get him to stay in place long enough for it to work, you do know that, don't you?”

“You'll see, Miss Ritchi,” he said smugly. The suspension beam was sure to work this time. Metro Mahn wouldn't be able to move a muscle. “You'll see.”

“And where is  _my_ death trap? I'm starting to feel a little left out.”  
“Mwahahaha!” he shouted triumphantly, whipping aside the sheet from the next piece of his master plan. He'd been waiting for this moment! 

Her mouth fell open. “Gosh, it's another drill,” she said.

“Your elocution is truly underwhelming, my dear,” he said with a mad grin. She was obviously using sarcasm to cover up her terror. He waved his arm at the gleaming monstrosity. “No special design needed for this one! Here,” he swooped forward, “is the table you will be strapped to. If Minion ever gets back, that is,” he added loudly, turning towards the service tunnel. His voice echoed briefly throughout the chamber. He glared at the tunnel, but the wayward ichthyoid did not come hurrying out of it.

With a sweep of the cape he strode over to the drill and pressed the start button. It was pre-set to position itself at the right angle. He raised his voice to be heard over the whirr of the drill as its tip began to dip downward towards the table. “I certainly hope Metro Mahn isn't late,” he said with an ee-vil smile. “I would hate to think what would happen to you. Not as large as the other, of course, since a perfectly ordinary mining drill is more than enough to deal with your feeble human anatomy.”

He knew he'd chosen the wrong word as soon as it left his mouth. Irresistably, his eyes darted over the anatomy in question. There were many ways to describe Roxanne's anatomy, and 'feeble' was not one of them.

Grrr! He swore he wouldn't do that! And she'd noticed his glance, too, what with that calculating look in her eye!

He could feel the mood changing, like sand shifting under his feet. The drill shut off as it finished its maneuvers. The silence seemed unnaturally loud as she glanced at the drill again, then cast a sideways look at him. “Still pretty big, though. Is it possible you're overcompensating?”

“Now who's predictable,” he snapped. “You've used similar lines before, Miss Ritchi. I have no need to compensate for  _anything.”_

“Sure about that? Seems like most of your machines are pretty big.”

He was never quite sure why this happened. She was just amusing herself, surely. She had obviously figured out long ago that the best way to throw him off balance was to start all this flirtation business. It was all a ploy, obviously. Had to be. The few women who had ever flirted with him were always after something, whether it was money, power, or bragging rights for having bagged the most notorious villain in town, or because they were curious about what it was like, sleeping with an alien. He was on to their tricks and whenever such a situation arose, he ignored them or put a stop to their nonsense with a few scathing remarks. He had no time for manipulative women and their twisted agendas.

But none of them had gotten under his skin the way Roxanne had. He never felt this way about other women, even female supervillains. Despite the occasional team-up, the primary means of communication between supervillains, male and female alike, was avoidance, and, when that was impossible, chilly politeness and occasional snide comments, while they circled around each other's territories, testing for weaknesses. Turf wars were bad for business and were usually avoided, but if a coup could be pulled off because of a rival supervillain's inattentiveness, all bets were off.

Was it because she presented such a constant challenge? Or because was such a goody two-shoes? Opposites attract, it was said. Yet why did it excite him so much when she displayed villainous traits? Because he was certain that if she decided to put her mind to it, she could become a truly terrifying force for ee-vil. It made no logical sense, and the Internet was woefully vague on why an evil man would be attracted to such an obviously good woman, though there were plenty of cases of it working in reverse.

Except for one particular example. He had read about an opposite of Stockholm syndrome, called Lima syndrome, where an abductor develops sympathy for the victim. Ha! As if that would ever happen.

She couldn't possibly want him anyway, not when she held the heart of Mister Perfect. And yet, though he told himself it was all a game this heartless woman instigated for her own amusement, he could not resist being drawn into it, because some small part of him wished it were real.

What should he say now? Ah yes, a perfect response. “If you're trying to get a rise out of me, Miss Ritchi, you have failed miserably.”  
She shrugged. “Can't blame a girl for trying. It's not usually so difficult, getting a rise.”

Damn it! Left himself wide open with that one. It was the voice, yes, the way she used her voice, to make even innocent statements drip with innuendo.

“Oh, really? I should think for a temptress like you it would be all too easy,” he murmured as he once again strolled around her chair, and he actually startled her with that one! He couldn't quite see her face, but she gave a little gasp and turned her head to the side. He smiled an evil smile...

...and then he whirled at the sound of a huge crash and a yell from Minion.

Metro Man came soaring into the room, dragging Minion through the air by the elbow, while the faithful ichthyoid grabbed at the super-powered hand that held him in an unbreakable grip.

“Not so fast, villain! Your diabolical scheme is at an end!” Metro Man had shouted. Megamind had lunged for the controls for the suspension beam, but it hadn't even been turned on, and it was all pretty much downhill from there.

\- - - - - - 

He felt his heart pound in anticipation for his next encounter with that sly vixen, and then he sighed. Drat, he'd just decided that he would have Minion handle the kidnappings... but he hadn't actually announced it, had he? He perked up again. Perhaps he would personally handle one more kidnapping.

He would prevail of course, she couldn't hope to win against him, he could kidnap her whenever he wished, but it intrigued him to see what she would try next.

He could hardly wait to hear what she had to say when...

A waitress sashayed over to his table. “Can I getcher order?” she said.

His eye twitched at the 'getcher.' Was pronouncing two distinct words so difficult? “Yes, I will have red wine, if you can manage it,” he said testily. She nodded, then hurried away.

Gene, gloomily watching his liquor disappearing down the throats of the patrons, and knowing his revenue was going with it, came out of his daze to micromanage, and intercepted her as she scuttled back to the bar. “Whatever he wants! Red wine? Quick, make sure it's fresh!” he snapped at the bartender. “Open a new box!” He turned to the waitress.

“Why don't you try sweetening him up a little?” he demanded.

The waitress shrugged. She'd smiled brightly, cocked her head, and put her hand on her hip, but he hadn't even looked her over. Just glared and snapped out his order.

“I tried, Gene, he's giving off some pretty heavy 'touch me and die' vibes.”

“Trixie, you get over there too and clean his table.”

Fidgeting and red-faced, he went with the two waitresses back to the table. Megamind leaned back out of the way as Trixie squirted the table with cleanser and scrubbed it wildly with a cloth. “Drink okay and all that?” Gene said anxiously as the other waitress set down the wineglass with a dull clunk.

“Since I haven't actually  _tasted_ it yet, that would be hard to say,” said Megamind. He waved off Gene's stammered apology. “Yes, everything's fine. Your performers ready?”

Gene swallowed. “Out in a minute, sir.” He turned to gesture frantically at the hallway.

There was some responsive waving, the DJ started the music, and the show began.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The pounding beat of the techno music pulsed through the club, making his eardrums vibrate. Two of the more meticulous brainbots delved into the small pile of weaponry, separating the guns from the cans of mace and pepper spray, and Minion put the guns into a suitcase to take back to the lair.

He kept the drinks rolling towards the patrons, maximizing the profit loss for the club. Some of them were too sunk in gloom to do more than sip at theirs, but others were taking advantage of the windfall and drinking it as if there were no such things as hangovers.

They must be going for quantity rather than quality, if his own ghastly drink was anything to go by. He'd taken a whiff and it had singed his nose hairs.

Hardly anyone was paying much attention to the show. They were too busy watching him out of the corners of their eyes, waiting for explosions, or possibly bloodshed.

He'd chosen this particular table so he would have a wall at his back and because it gave him full view of the rest of the room. Leaning back, he propped his feet on the table and crossed his ankles. Sipping the paint thinner masquerading as wine, neither smiling nor frowning, he watched the performance.

The girl was pretty enough in a plastic, glittery sort of way, but apart from her hair, which was probably a wig, she didn't really look all that much like Roxanne. Too much make-up, as if it had been applied with a trowel, and her face was too narrow. And what was it with those facial expressions? Were they considered erotic? She looked more like she was experiencing gas pains. Of course, her acting abilities could have been compromised by the awesome grandeur of his presence. She couldn't have known she'd be performing for the Master of All Villainy tonight.

He sneered as he looked over the male dancer. Certainly he must be dedicated, he thought, to cover himself completely in blue, and to put on that outrageous fake head. It was a lousy job done there. Some pieces of hair were sticking out from under the headpiece. His costume consisted of a cape, pants, boots, and gloves, but no shirt. He moved so stiffly, the whites of his eyes showing stark against his blue face, and he seemed unable to pay attention to his partner, but kept looking in Megamind's direction. How amateurish. At least the woman was trying. She had practically had to drag him onto the stage, and he'd tiptoed onto it as if expecting it to explode. It wasn't like the man was even doing that much, he seemed to serve more as a prop rather than as a dance partner.

Of course it didn't help much that every once in a while an overexcited brainbot would swoop in for a closer look, quivering with curiosity.

When the man fell into the chair and the woman wrapped a rope around him, Megamind tensed. He'd been expecting something like this; with a show title like 'Damsel's Revenge' he shouldn't have been surprised, but seeing it actually playing out in front of him made his trigger finger itch.

As if HE would ever end up in such a ridiculous position.  _He_ was the kidnapper! He was the one who tied up helpless victims, not the other way around! What a farce. What a blow to his image. An insult to his awesomely inspired plans!

He took his feet off the table and tensed, preparing to stand and stop the insulting performance. His wrath grew, threatening to overflow and send these fools to their doom, but then he exhaled. Settling back, he picked up the cheap plastic wineglass again. No, let them finish their little dance.

But Roxanne would never behave like that. She would never engage in such a tawdry display!

He froze in his chair as a terrible thought inserted itself into his brain. Unless she did things like this in private. For Metro Man? You heard about how couples got up to all sorts of shenanigans in the privacy of their own bedrooms. It'd be easy enough to find out, all he had to do was plant a few hidden cameras and microphones.

Shuddering, he took another drink. He really did  _not_ want to know. Another full glass appeared at his elbow and he picked it up, barely noticing the waitress slipping away. 

He found it hard to believe that his Roxanne would do anything like this. She was too classy.

_His Roxanne?_ A snide voice seemed to say in the back of his head. He ignored it.

What was the point of baring all this flesh? Not that it wasn't a little titillating, but it was rather flat, a cheap thrill that quickly grew tiring. There were plenty of beautiful women in the world, to be sure, but what good was beauty without brains, or wit? A single snide remark from Roxanne excited him more than all of this prancing around.

To think that she might belittle herself by performing some lewd dance for her beefy boyfriend made his jaw tighten. No, he couldn't believe that, even for a minute.

The female dancer gyrating on stage stumbled as a brainbot's tentacle snatched at her ankle.

“Brainbots! Back off!” he snapped. Sensing his foul mood, the brainbots obeyed with remarkable speed for once, and flew back from the stage to take up stations around the room. The less playful brutebots blinked in a sturdy manner. He was going to have to do something about their design. They just were not menacing enough, and the dim lighting in the room made them difficult to see, even with the glowing spikes. He should have made their domes transparent after all, like the brainbots.

The woman had shed the quasi business suit by this point, exposing a large amount of glitter and some sort of underclothing that appeared to be made mostly of dental floss, and he couldn't help but notice that she did, in fact, resemble Roxanne in some very particular ways. It was all too easy to imagine what Roxanne might look like unclothed.

A hot blush started under his collar and worked its way upward. His ears started to burn. He shut his eyes to dim the impression. No, that was worse. That made him imagine her all the more vividly, so he opened them again. He sucked down the rest of the wine and the horrible burn as it went down his throat muted his inner vision. Another full glass appeared. He reached for it, operating on automatic.

The female dancer took up a new position, straddling the man's lap. _Ridiculous,_ he thought, sneering. If Roxanne tried something like that, with the pencil skirts she often wore, the skirt would ride all the way up to her hips.

Her curvy, voluptuous hips. Placing a knee on one side of him as he sat in his leather swivel chair, hands on his shoulders to steady herself, then the other knee, and sliding down onto his lap, a sultry smile on her face, the skirt riding up, his hands automatically slipping around those sweet curves...

A fire ignited in his groin. He clenched his knees. Not this! Not now! He had a roomful of people to terrorize, dammit!

If he didn't get control of himself soon he wouldn't be able to stand up or walk out of the place with any kind of dignity.  _Think cold,_ he thought desperately.  _Icebergs, polar winds, icicles, dog sleds...fur-trimmed coats like the one she wore last winter, it looked so soft it made him want to run his hands over it, fireplace, warm laughter..._

_No! Stop that!_ he scolded himself, forcing back the images. He clenched his fists, clenched his teeth, and willed the rest of his body to relax. 

The heat pulsing in his body lessened, though it remained, lurking, waiting to spring back to life. He exhaled and took another drink to settle his nerves. In a few moments the wine would begin to feed the fire rather than squelch it, but he had his defenses up now and would not be caught unawares again.

Damn the woman! For putting him in this ridiculous position! Making him to come to this dive with its sticky tables and cigarettes and cheap cologne polluting his lungs, all for the sake of her reputation and her precious relationship with that mush-brained hero! Did she care what he had to go through? Did she appreciate the effort he was making on her behalf? Of course not! And what was worse, he would never be able to tell her about it.

What could he say? That he'd gone to some strip joint to preserve her honor? Thinking of her reaction made him roll his eyes. He could just imagine what she'd say, the look of scorn on her face.

His hands clenched into fists. Maybe he would. He just might! See what she had to say about that! Maybe he would bring it up next time, and let the chips fall where they may!

Sucked into the vortex of his imagination, he no longer registered what was happening on stage anymore.

Who knew? Maybe...maybe it wouldn't be so bad, if he just came right out and told her. He would tell her, and she would look startled, or suspicious, or even disgusted.

_“So you went to a strip club, all on my account,” she'd say with a mocking smile. “Gosh, that must have been torture.”_

_“It's true,” he'd reply. “Normally I would not stoop to enter such a place.”_

_“Oh, really,” she'd say, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “How could you stand it?”_

_“You wound me deeply, my dear,” he'd respond. “Some tart flouncing around pretending to be you? I couldn't allow it.” Yes, he could do it, without all the bravado and pretense of ee-vil. They could have a semi-normal conversation._

_“Not to mention some male bimbo in blue make-up.”_

_He'd shrug with a modest grin. “I confess to more than one motive for my appearance at the Pussycat Club.” Then his expression would turn grave and he'd look her in the eye. “Anything that affects you concerns me greatly.”_

_Roxanne would look at him with a different, appraising sort of look._

_“Why, Megamind, I didn't know you cared.”_

_He'd give a careless shrug as if it were no big deal, managing in that one motion to convey the idea that he would do anything for her expecting no reward in return, of course, it was a duty and a pleasure to do these little favors for her, he was cool with it, being an honorable villain and all that._

_And she would gaze upon him thoughtfully, then stand up and walk toward him, and..._

...wait a minute, what happened to the ropes? A snide voice intervened. Wasn't she bound hand and foot a second ago? Or are you letting little miss nosy reporter wander freely around the lair now?

He thought furiously.  _The brainbots could have broken into the cabinet, messed around with the solvent specifically formulated for dissolving fibrous material, and dripped some onto the ropes as they floated by, melting the bonds and leaving her tender skin untouched, it's statistically unlikely, but still possible, now shut up!_

_Where was he? Oh yes. She'd walk toward him, she'd be wearing that no-nonsense outfit, the white shirt with the top two buttons left undone and the gray pencil skirt, she looked gorgeous in anything anyway, and raise a hand to his face. He imagined he could feel the palm of her hand cupping the side of his jaw, her thumb stroking his cheek._

_“You took an entire building hostage for me?” she'd say. “To protect my relationship with your archenemy? Why?”_

Even though it was all happening in his fevered imagination, Megamind felt his heart thud heavily in his chest and the glass shook in his hand.

_“Because if he broke up with you I wouldn't have a reason to kidnap you anymore. It's the only way I get to see you,” he'd say, and wonder and understanding would blossom in her eyes._

_“You could have asked me out, you know,” she'd say softly. “Like a normal person.” Because this was Roxanne after all, a rose with thorns, and he didn't want her any other way, but her gentle smile would take the sting out of her words._

_He'd give her a faint smile in return. “I didn't think you'd accept.”_

_She'd step a little closer so her breasts were nearly touching him and he could feel the heat of her body. She'd slide her other hand over his shoulder, placing her arm over and between the blunt spikes. (They only_ _**looked** _ _sharp.)_

_“I could be open to suggestion,” she'd murmur, and he'd slip his arms around her then and pull her close against him, the entire length of their bodies touching. She'd give a little gasp, eyes wide, and he'd place his lips against hers, and she'd hug him tight..._

Minion tapped him on the shoulder.

“WHAT!” he roared.

Minion snatched his hand back, blinking. He waggled his eyebrows and jerked his head to the side.

Megamind whipped around, furious. The waitress clutched her tray to her chest like a shield, mouth stretched in a frantic smile.

“Can I get you another?” she squeaked.

He glared at the empty stage, and at the sudden silence, his breathing loud in his ears. The performance had ended, the dancers were gone. A burst of muffled laughter came from the mass of customers at the other end of the room. He zeroed in on the source, a man in a three-piece suit hunched over a table, shaking. The men sitting on either side of him carefully shifted their chairs a little further away, attempting to imply that though they, too, were dressed in a similar fashion, they had no clue who this other suit-wearing person was.

Megamind huffed out a breath and settled back. “Oh. Uh, no, nothing else. Sashay on back to your little friends,” he said, waggling an impatient hand at her, and she scuttled back to the bar. He looked over at the DJ.

“Well? Let's have some more music!” he snapped. “And bring the two dancers to me! I wish to congratulate them on their performance.”

“I was wondering when you'd lay off the booze,” Minion murmured as the DJ started up some more music with a heavy disco beat.

Megamind scowled. “A drink or two. There's no harm in that. What is alcohol, anyway? Derived from sugar. I laugh in the face of sugar. Ha ha ha!”

“Since when did 'a drink or two' turn into 'five', Sir?”

Megamind blinked in surprise at the small crowd of wine glasses, then gave Minion a brief glare over his shoulder and turned around again.

“Four and half,” he corrected. “Better work on your powers of observation, Minion. And I can hear you rolling your eyes so knock it off.”

He drummed his fingers and shifted in his seat. “Uh, Minion,” he said, clearing his throat. “I wasn't making any funny noises, or movements, or anything like that, was I?”

Minion looked at him sideways. “No, you were just sort of staring off into space.”

Thank all that was ee-vil. He could've been sitting there stroking his own ears for all he knew, which was definitely not the sort of thing to inspire fear and respect in the drones.

Soon the two exotic dancers were hustled before his table, wrapped in robes, Gene hovering beside them.

“Sooooo, Lloyd and Candy,” he said jovially. Candy gave a nervous tightening of the lips that might have been a grin, but she didn't look up from the floor.

“First of all, let me congratulate you both on a truly remarkable job,” he said with a grim smile. “Everyone's always a bit nervous performing for someone of my eminence. How long have you been an exotic dancer, Candy?”

Candy's eyes darted around in terror, looking for escape, then she shrugged and looked back at the floor.

Megamind waited, but no answer seemed to be forthcoming. “I've noticed that every woman who works here has the long 'e' sound at the end of her name. Is it some sort of job requirement?”

He leaned his elbows on the table, interlacing his fingers in front of his chin. “Do you spell your name with a 'y', or an 'i'? Or with two 'ee's, perhaps?”

Candy's lip quivered a little. She mumbled.

“What?” he said, frowning and tilting his head, but she grimaced and twitched and clammed up.

His lips tightened in annoyance and he leaned back in the chair again. Roxanne never would have stood there mumbling and fighting back tears, she'd have come up with half a dozen smart-ass remarks by now.

A yell from the center of the room made them all look around.

A man knelt on the floor, his arm trapped in a brutebot's mouth up to the elbow.

“Help! It got me!” the man shrieked. “I gotta go to the john!”

“Release him,” Megamind said. The brutebot rumbled a deep 'bowg' and lazily opened its jaws. The man scrambled back to safety, leaving behind a damp spot on the faded carpet.

Another unfortunate side effect of liquidating Gene Dibble's inventory. “Anyone else need to use the potty?” he said acidly. The customers looked at each other as if wondering who would be the first to volunteer, but soon a few hands went up.

“Let them pass,” he ordered the cyborgs. “You may proceed to the restroom. But come back quickly, or the brutebots will come to fetch you. Go.” No one could get out, all of the windows were guarded, especially the restroom windows, since fleeing via the restroom was one of the most time-honored of escape routes, but he wasn't having any unauthorized wandering about.

The distressed customers hurried to obey.

He turned his attention back to the mere mortals huddled before him, awaiting his judgment. There was no point in haranguing the woman any longer. She was obviously cowed and had all the debate skills of tissue paper.

He glared at Lloyd, giving him the full force of his displeasure. Lloyd had snatched off the fake headpiece back in the dressing room, and his hair stuck out all over his head like a freshly scrubbed dog's.

“Seeing you onstage was like looking in a mirror,” he said with a grim smile. “So how about you, Lloyd? Been dancing long?”

Lloyd shrugged and gave him a nervous grin, shifting from side to side.

“Candy has already snagged the role of shrinking violet, Lloyd,” Megamind said coldly. “Unless you want the role of pathetic cripple, use words.”

Lloyd gulped and squeaked, “Four years, sir.” His face was bright pink, signs of vigorous scrubbing, but his ears and neck were still blue. He began to run his hand over his hair, looked with alarm at his still-blue hands, and stuck them under his arms.

“You always dress in costume?” Megamind asked.

“No, not always, sir.”

“You ever make yourself up to look like any black celebrities?”

Lloyd gave him a startled look. “No, of course not.”

“Oh really?” Megamind's eyebrows shot halfway up his forehead. “Why not?”

Lloyd swallowed. The act had seemed like such a hoot when it first started. Now he was getting a hard lesson on civil rights. It really was not fair.

“Because people might get upset?” he said in a hesitant voice, wishing he were back in Montana.

“I see. Some of the clientele might take it amiss if you were to prance around on stage in blackface, is that right?” Lloyd nodded gloomily.

Megamind glanced at the patrons, some of whom were having difficulty sitting upright. A healthy cross-section of humanity was represented.

“It's nice to see that there are venues where everyone can gather for a common purpose and get along.” Megamind heaved a sigh. “I suppose it is rather flattering, that all these people came to see a representation of yours truly. In a creepy, flesh-crawling sort of way.”

Lloyd nodded uncertainly, wondering if he was expected to make some sort of response.

“Strange how no one seems to mind you prancing around in blueface,” Megamind said. “But I suppose it can't be helped.” He steepled his fingers in front of his chest and gave Lloyd a thoughtful look. “If you like, I can provide you with a dye that would make you blue permanently.”

Lloyd stiffened. “No, that's okay, sir. I don't really need it.”

“It would save you the hassle of putting on make-up every night,” said Megamind.

Lloyd shuffled his feet. “I wouldn't want you to go to any trouble, sir,” he said, with a nervous chuckle.

“It's no trouble,” Megamind said. “I can send a brainbot back to the lair to get the dye. It'd be back in two snaps of an alligator's jaws.”

A number of expressions fought for control of Lloyd's face. “No, please. I don't need it,” he squeaked.

Megamind tilted his head, brows wrinkling with concern. “Don't you like being blue, Lloyd?”

Lloyd rocked back and forth, struggling to come up with an answer that wouldn't result in himself being splattered across the nearest wall.

He looked at the floor. “Just not, you know, all the time,” he whispered.

There was a long pause, while the room seemed to hold its breath.

“I see,” Megamind said. “Well, perhaps it's not for everybody.” He shifted his weight and propped his feet on the table again. The room exhaled.

“It has been an honor and a privilege to meet such fine performers, especially you, Lloyd. Now that I've seen your act, I can think of suitable payback. I mean,” he chuckled as Lloyd's eyes widened, “a way to  _pay_ you back of course. A reward of some kind. I expect you will give an equally stellar show tomorrow night,” he said. “You are dismissed. Be sure to get plenty of rest.” He looked down, releasing them from his gaze, and picked up the half full glass from the table and took a sip.

They all looked at each other, then turned and stepped away. “Not you, Gene,” Megamind said and the club owner froze while Candy and Lloyd fled for the safety of the back rooms.

Something about the way they hurried away suggested that Gene would have to find a different pair to continue the show, as they themselves would be looking for new employment, in Argentina, perhaps.

Gene shuffled back to the table. “We need to discuss my security fee,” Megamind said. “Ten thousand, in cash.”

Gene's toupee almost fell off.

Megamind pretended to take another sip. “Same fee tomorrow night. Just so you're prepared. Provide a bag. Tonight you can use this one.” Minion tossed a leather satchel at him and Gene clutched it to his chest.

“I can't give you that kind of dough,” he whispered. “Not tomorrow, too.”

“Well, then, you have a problem.” Megamind swirled the contents of the glass. “Perhaps you could add an extra night of illegal poker games. Or run it three times a week? Oh, I'll leave the details to you,” he said, with a wave of his free hand. “I'm sure a resourceful businessman like you will figure something out.”

He gave Gene a cool look. “I have so enjoyed myself that I plan on returning  _every_ night, for the duration of the show's run.” 

Gene wondered why Megamind was telling him that he would be back. Wasn't he worried that the police would be lying in wait next time? Or even Metro Man?  
An image of police cars lined up outside his club, or Metro Man whooshing by overhead, filled him with a sinking feeling. His usual customers would take one look, and drive briskly to another club. The cops would keep Megamind away all right.  _And_ his customers, even the law-abiding ones. Not many men would stroll into a strip club with cops lining the route. He'd be ruined.

Megamind watched him for a moment. “But only for as long as the show lasts,” he said. Gene was transfixed by the inner vision of his revenue melting away. “Until it comes to an  _end.”_ He hoped the club owner picked up on the hints soon. The buzz in his head was quite strong now and he wanted to go home and get out of this funky place. 

He watched Gene's ashen face, impatience mounting. Was the man such a dullard that he didn't recognize the hint? It was so annoying when he had to feed people their lines. “So was this the last show or not?” he snapped.

Gene blinked at him, finally realizing he was on stage. Megamind had not let him back out of it before, but it seemed like he was providing an escape valve now.

“The thing is, it's actually, this  _was_ sort of the last show, actually,” he said. “You were just in time to catch the last one.”

“Oh? The  _very_ last one?” 

“Right. That's right. The very last one. There won't be any more.”

“Hm? Really? Ah, well. All good things must come to an end.” He set the glass down on the table with a little plastic click. “I guess there is no reason for me to return, then. What a shame. I will be going, once I have received my fee.”

Gene turned and walked back to his office in a daze, wondering if he could get away with siphoning off a few dollars here and there, then decided not to risk it. Megamind could probably count a stack of cash from twenty feet away. Gene did not want him to come back to collect anything that might be missing.

“One more thing, Minion,” Megamind said. “Bring that braying jackass over here. The one with the red power tie.”

Minion went to collect him, walking with purpose across the floor. With his short gorilla legs he couldn't really stride, but he made up for it by hulking and looming, and a murmur of alarm rippled over the patrons at his approach. Minion grabbed him by the back of his suit jacket and dragged him away from his table, chair falling over with a crash.

The man cried, “Officer, help!” And, incredibly, Lieutenant Stafford began to rise.

In one swift movement Megamind stood and drew the de-gun. The other customers shied away from Stafford, crouching down on the floor. The waitresses and the dancers who had wandered out of the dressing rooms darted behind the bar. The brainbots swooped in close, bowg-ing, electricity shooting around in their domes. The brutebots growled in unison and advanced.

“Cool it, Stafford,” Megamind said, voice hard. “Your concern for this taxpayer is very touching, but now is not the time. It has been a fairly pleasant evening so far. Don't ruin it by trying to be a hero when we are all so very close to going home. Sit down.” 

Looking like he'd swallowed a lemon, the police lieutenant sank back onto the chair. The disappointed brainbots drifted back. The brutebots maintained their positions.

“Good boy,” Megamind said with a faint smile. “Don't get too choked up, Stafford. He didn't even use your correct rank.” He twirled the de-gun on one finger and holstered it with his usual aplomb, but sat down in his chair a little too heavily. Perhaps the wine was having some small effect after all.

He turned a level gaze on the man gripped in Minion's fist. Tailored suit with a red silk tie hanging loose, Rolex watch, shoes that cost more than an imported car. A man who wanted people to see how much he was worth.

_Probably runs around the same social circle as the Scotts, too,_ he thought, eyes narrowing, disliking him more and more with every passing second.  _I wonder if he's pals with Wayne?_

“You like slumming?” Megamind said, lacing his fingers over his stomach. “It did sound as if you were enjoying yourself. I must have looked pretty funny, staring off into space.”

“Ye...I mean...no,” the man said carefully. Those brain cells that weren't inebriated tried to perform a few life-saving maneuvers. “I was not. Not laughing. Not at you. No. In fact, I thought of a joke. Yeah. Did you hear the one about...” His voice trailed away under Megamind's glare.

Megamind said, “The only reason you're not upside down in a toilet right now is because my business here is almost complete and I don't wish to spare Minion for the time it would take to give you a thorough dunking. So hand over the watch, the shoes, and the wallet, and I'll say no more about it.”

The man blinked owlishly down at his feet and placed a hand over his watch. “My watch? It was a gift. How can I explain to my wife what...”

“You know what's  _really_ funny,” Megamind said. “Two broken thumbs. And it takes no time at all. Minion.” He raised an imperious finger and Minion produced the hammer.

“Here! Here!” the man shouted, pulling the watch off with a shaking hand. Minion released him so he could lean over and unlace the shoes.

Gene reappeared with the bulging satchel and looked at the man struggling to take his shoes off without falling over.

“He would've gotten rolled before the night was over anyway, Gene,” Megamind said. “Coming around here dressed like that. At least he's not going home in his underwear.”

Minion tossed the shoes and wallet into the suitcase with the guns and handed the watch to Megamind.

He held up the watch. “Why, just look at the time,” he said, eyebrows shooting up in mock surprise. “Really must dash. It's been a pleasure, Gene.” He rose to his feet and tossed the watch to a brainbot. He strode across the room and out to the front and the 'bots began soaring after him in loose formation, two of them squabbling over the watch.

Minion gave the bag of mace and pepper spray to one of the brainbots, who whisked away to deliver it back to the club's employees. He put the satchel over his shoulder and picked up the suitcase.

He paused before he reached the front doors. It wasn't often that he got to have the last word. “Night everybody!” he said cheerfully, with a wave of one huge arm, then hurried after his master, the last brainbot zipping after him.

\- - - - 

“Very evil work, Sir,” Minion said with a grin, catching up to Megamind at the corner.

Megamind grunted and rubbed his temple. The damp night air did nothing to dispel the low-grade headache beginning to pulse in his head. With the cheap wine and visions of Roxanne dancing through his head and making his loins throb, he wanted to go back to the lair, get  _extremely_ drunk, and lock himself in his room. Watch some recordings of Roxanne's best interviews, though none of the Metro Man ones. If he had to see that smarmy grin tonight, he'd probably start setting off explosives around the city.

Or worse. He might go over to Roxanne's place and make a complete fool of himself. He imagined walking into her apartment and falling at her feet, crying, “I have loved you ever since you told me I was an idiot for putting that self-destruct button where anyone could brush up against it. I love every cutting remark that falls from your lips. Without you, my life is a hollow shell. Let me love you!”

Not exactly negotiating from a position of strength.

And then she would  _know._ She'd know the true power she held over him. Things would get awkward, and weird.

So be it. If kidnapping her was the only way to spend time with her, he would take it, and be happy with whatever attention she gave him. He couldn't expect her to have the same feelings he did.

As he walked along the sidewalk his progress could be measured by the minor exodus of pedestrians scattering out of his path, fleeing across the street and causing minor traffic pileups. He glanced around, disinterested, at the sound of a car swerving, its brakes screeching. It crashed into a fire hydrant and the driver got out, shouting at the jaywalkers. A fight broke out. He snorted and walked on.

“No one's not gonna try to put on a show like that again!” Minion said, chuckling. “Who'd want you coming around? Nobody wants that! Hahahaha! Oh. Uh. I-I-I meant...” Minion stammered into silence as Megamind stopped and gave him a sharp look.

He flattened his fins and bit his lip. But then Megamind snorted.

“It's all right Minion. I know what you meant,” he said, and resumed walking.

“Whew,” Minion whispered and hurried after. “I'm glad you weren't too hard on the girl, though, Sir,” he said. “That was pretty decent of...”

“Of course not, what do you think I am!” Megamind snapped. “No challenge in debating with some witless ninny! A gentleman doesn't go around badgering helpless women. And before you say it, Miss Ritchi does not count!” he snarled. “There's never been a woman less helpless! I can tell what you're thinking, don't bother to deny it. Is the welfare of Roxanne Ritchi the only thing on your mind? It's like you've been thinking about her all night.”

Minion's mouth fell open at the outrageous attack, then he shut it again.  _Geez, I think I mentioned her_ _**once.** _ _What a grouch,_ he thought, and immediately felt guilty for thinking it.

They walked in silence for a while. Word of his passing grew. The sidewalk emptied.

_She's probably in that moron's arms right now,_ Megamind thought grimly.  _Giggling and kissing and making love. That son of a bitch._ God, he needed a drink.

He slowed to a more thoughtful pace, pursing his lips and clasping his hands behind his back, then came to a complete stop. Music and loud voices pulsated from the cracked wall of the dance club next to him.

Minion took few more steps, then turned and looked at him, puzzled. Sir was usually a lot more chipper after the successful execution of an ee-vil plan.

“Um,” Minion said, as Megamind continued to stare thoughtfully at the ground. “So, I packed some Screaming Wallendas in the trunk. Wanna go buzz the Plaza?” Crashing the Upper Midwestern Lawyers' Convention with some professional-grade fireworks ought to bring Sir out of his funk.

Megamind shook his head. Sighing, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, Minion. Not tonight. We'll stop by Chansen's Liquor, grab some takeout, then go back to the lair.”

A trio of laughing drunks burst out of the door of the club, sending ear-bleedingly loud music pouring into the night. Their laughter was cut short at the sight of them and the hovering 'bots. Gaping, they scrambled back to the safety of the doorway. Megamind gave them a dirty look and swept on, turning the corner to where the invisible car was parked.

“I was just thinking, Minion,” he said, “How strange it is that, out of all the times we've kidnapped her, we have never found her at the Scott mansion. Not once. Nor do we usually see Metro Mahn at her apartment. Just twice, and they were watching movies. Other than that, he's rarely there. Even in the middle of the night.”

He'd abducted her a few times from her bed, only after carefully scanning for Metro Man's presence before pouncing of course, since getting six kinds of crap beaten out of him and dragged off to jail right off the bat would be detrimental to his evil plans, but there was no challenge in waylaying a sleeping victim. It was too easy. Besides, the sight of Roxanne in those little nighties ruined his peace of mind for weeks on end. And Metro Man was never there.

He frowned. “They  _are_ dating, aren't they?”

“Well, sure they are, Sir, everyone knows that,” Minion said.

His shoulders slumped. “Yes, that's true.”

“Maybe they're, you know, waiting. For marriage,” Minion said, pressing the button on the key chain. The car beeped and reappeared.

Megamind pondered this. Could it be true? Were they really waiting? Whose idea was that? His? Hers? Had they, being such goody two-shoes, made a mutual decision to wait? Wasn't the big over-muscled lug every woman's dream? Or was the great Metro Mahn...inadequate?

His teeth gleamed in the dark. He felt better already.

Well, he certainly wouldn't want to wait! If he were dating Roxanne and she said “come hither” he'd hither on over all right, even if they weren't engaged, he'd...

And then such a glorious idea blazed into his head he was almost blinded by its brilliance. A low chuckle started in his belly and grew into a full-blown hearty laugh.

“I have it!” he cried, clapping his hands together and dancing a few gleeful steps.

His henchfish, having slung the bags into the back seat, looked up in surprise.

Megamind shouted, “I shall ask Roxanne Ritchi to be my bride, and join me in ruling this pathetic city as my Evil Queen!”

Minion's mouth fell open as Megamind threw his head back and roared with laughter.

“Uhhhhh, I don't think you've thought this through, Sir,” Minion said, raising a cautious hand.

“What could be more wickedly ee-vil!” he shouted, voice echoing off the buildings. He strode back and forth, waving his arms. “To steal Metro Mahn's beloved away from him, heart and soul! What a blow to his ego! What a triumph for villainy!”

Minion grimaced.  _He doesn't really think she'll take him up on that, does he?_ “Er, I don't think she'll accept, Sir,” he said, trying to inject some common sense into the situation before Sir's heart was broken into a million little pieces.

Megamind flapped his hand. “Oh, please! The odds of her accepting such an outrageous offer are microscopic. But think of the  _challenge!_

“31 and 57, heel.” Megamind gestured at two of the brainbots. “You want to go for a ride with Daddy? Do you? Huh? Huh?” All of the brainbots crowded closer eagerly. They loved riding in the car. The brutebots watched without much interest. They were too big to fit in the car.

“The rest of you return to the lair,” he ordered, and the 'bots filtered away through the alleys, casting red and blue lights along the walls. He opened the car door and the two lucky 'bots swooped into the back.

“Change of plan, filet Mignon! Get those fireworks ready!”

“Yes, Sir!” Minion cried.

“Let's go flush those attorneys out of their cozy, self-congratulatory nest.”

“Yeah, let's go!” Minion said with a big grin. Anything to distract him from this new, insane idea.

“We can stop by the liquor store later.” Megamind leaped into the passenger seat and slammed the door with a bang. He still planned on getting as drunk as possible, though now it would be celebratory drinks for his ee-vil inspiration, but first he'd ruin a few more evenings for people.

His heart soared. Roxanne would be  _shocked_ when he sprang that offer on her! And it wouldn't make things all weird and awkward, she'd think he was just being infuriating. It would become part of the routine, and fit in nicely with all the flirting.

And there was always the chance, no matter how small, how abysmally small, there was always the chance she would say  _Yes._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene from the Blues Brothers movie that helped inspire this story is the restaurant scene, when Jake and Elwood go to convince an old buddy to rejoin the band. He's working as a maitre d' and is not too keen to leave his cushy job, so it takes some work on the Blues brothers' part to convince him otherwise. They become a major annoyance to the other customers, and Jake says that he and Elwood plan on coming there for breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day of the week. Needless to say, they get their way.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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